A Second Chance
by JonesMyOsmosis
Summary: What would have happened if Thrax had survived? Can Leah get over her heartbreak when she presumes Ozzie to be dead? Will Drix be allowed to stay in the city of Frank now that his employment lease has expired? Read on to find out! Rated M for dedicated OzziexThrax shipping and therefore some scenes not appropriate for kiddies ;) #OzziexThrax #ButNotOnlyAboutRomance #AdventureToo!
1. Chapter 1 - Thrax's Fate

Osmosis Jones was trying desperately hard not to get himself killed, although this was a little hard when a certain virus by the name of Thrax had a length of cord wrapped around his neck and was proceeding to choke him with it.

"Looks good on you, Jones!" The virus smirked down at him, narrowing those blazing, acid-yellow eyes as he grinned into Ozzie's face, who was staring straight ahead in a decidedly panicked fashion with both hands at his own throat, trying to loosen the choking hold. Thrax lowered his voice. "You wear it well…" Ozzie (had he not been choking to death) would have shivered a little at that tone. It was almost… seductive. Seductive? He wasn't sure 'seductive' was the right word to use when someone was throttling you for all their worth, but he was a little preoccupied with not dying to think about it in detail.

Suddenly, a loud whooshing sound filled their eyes, and Thrax turned, dragging Ozzie with him, just in time for Shayne's eyelid to come rushing towards the duo. Thrax yelled his surprise as Shayne blinked and the two were separated in a tidal wave of intraocular liquid, Ozzie falling onto an eyelash whilst Thrax fell short, splashing face-down onto the surface of Shayne's eyeball once more.

After struggling with the cord still wound tightly around his neck for a few moments, Ozzie could finally breathe again, and did so with great relief, before grasping the chord in his triumph. "Ha!" He exclaimed. He could save Frank with the hypothalamus DNA, the city was going to live! Although.. there WAS the matter of actually getting back to Frank in the first place.

Ozzie wasn't remotely prepared when something hit him with the force of an Oxygen truck and knocked all his hard-earned air straight back out of his lungs, turning him over and pinning him to the lash. He opened his eyes, only to find himself staring up at Thrax's face, who grinned maliciously and raised his killer claw, before plunging it straight through Ozzie's chest. Ozzie felt the lash beneath him shift. What? Oh, Frank… it was a false lash! He could hear the low ping as strands of glue strained and snapped, signalling the lash's eventual separation from its owner. Thrax didn't seem to care, and lowered his voice once more to that strangely sultry tone as he gloated over his apparent victory. "Can you feel the heat, Jones? Heheheh… shame you won't be around to see me break my record when I take down Frank's pretty little girl…"

"She ain't goin' down…"

Thrax's confident grin faltered. What did he mean? The virus looked down incredulously. His claw wasn't piercing Ozzie's heart, but rather lancing deep into the surface of the lash as Ozzie's natural morphing ability kicked in, making a convenient hole in his chest so Thrax's killer claw passed through entirely. The immunity cell was the one with the victorious grin now as he looked up at Thrax's furious face. "…You are!" He finished, and with that, separated himself into two halves and worked his way out from underneath his captor, who immedaitl snarled his rage and continued trying to wrench his claw from the lash's surface.

The lash was going to go any second now. Ozzie ran, still grasping the hypothalamus cord tightly in one hand, and leapt as high as he just as the lash finally gave way, plunging through the air and taking a screaming Thrax with it, heading straight down towards a beaker of pure medical-grade alchohol, leaving Ozzie hanging from a strand of glue. Pumped full of adrenaline, his throat sore from the cord's cruel grip, but undoubtedly alive, Ozzie couldn't resist the urge to cheer his triumph. But his mission wasn't over yet. He pulled himself up a little further, watching as Shayne began to cry over her father's 'dead' body, a giant globule of water forming nearby as tears got ready to fall. Ozzie saw his chance, and let go of the glue strand, becoming encased in the tear as it fell (through an unfortunate lack of hospital hygiene) straight into Frank's open mouth.

However, Ozzie was so preoccupied by this point that he didn't see what had happened to the fake lash, which had sunk to the bottom of the beaker of alchohol. No organism, virus or cell, would survive a dip in THAT bath. Strangely, there was no virus on the lash to found. Whilst Ozzie was busy timing his jump into the tear, Thrax had finally succeeded in wrenching his claw out of the lash. He jumped just in time, allowing the air currents (and his trench coat-turned-glider) carry him to safety, landing in Franks'd hair with something of a relieved grimace. He attempted to stand, but his earlier fight had weakened him more than he'd thought. He cursed. He would have to wait to make another move on Frank, and by that time, Jones would have returned the hypothalamus DNA to its rightful place. Stupid immunity cell. He had to hand it to him though, Jones sure could pack a punch.

Sometimes, Thrax swore that being a supervillain just wasn't what people cut it out to be.


	2. Chapter 2 - Deja'Vu

Three days later, Frank was still in hospital; Feverish, feeling awful, but completely and undoubtedly alive. Shayne, of course, was overjoyed, and hugged her father tightly, weeping and swearing she'd never let him touch another chicken wing again. The doctor said that Frank would be clear to go in a couple of days as he seemed to be recovering remarkably, but to take it easy and to stay off the fatty foods. Frank sighed. "Looks like it's gonna be carrot sticks for a while, huh Shayne?"

Back inside Frank, the whole city was alive with celebration. Ozzie got his job as a cop back much to his delight, although his best friend Drixenol, the cold tablet, was looking a little put out throughout the festivities. Ozzie made his way over to Drix during the after-presentation party, holding a mug of dopamine (the cellular equivalent of a good ol' pint). "What's up, Drips? Why the long face, man?" He questioned. The red and yellow cold pill glanced away briefly, before responding in his usual serious tone. "..I…I'm not sure I can stay, Jones…"

"Hold up, what you talkin' about? S'not like you got anywhere else to go…" Ozzie responded, taking a swig of dopamine and leaning against the bar next to Drix, who frowned.

"My employment lease has expired. It's technically illegal for me to stay any longer."

"Hey. Buddy." Drix noticed Ozzie's consoling hand on his shoulder and looked up from where he'd been staring glumly at the floor.

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna head to Downtown Frank, and we're gonna get you a damn good lawyer. I'm sure it won't take much to persuade the new major to letcha stay. You did help save the city, after all."

Drix was silent for a while, and then nodded slowly. "..Thanks, Osmosis. You're a great friend."

"Don't worry 'bout it pal. Now, how about a microlitre o' dopamine and a bit o' tail-cell shakin'?"

Back on Frank's head, Thrax was strolling through the forest that Frank appeared to call 'hair'. Every follicle was dripping with grease, and, despite himself, Thrax couldn't help but feel just a little sickened. Ugh. He may have been a virus, but at least he was tidy about it. This…. This was a whole different level of nasty.

Thrax shuddered a little and continued walking, until he heard voices in the near distance. He quickly stole away behind a hair root, peering round it to see a couple of construction workers busy pouring 'Scab-Eezy' over a smallish cut on Frank's scalp. Thrax broke into a sly grin. Perfect.

"Yo, Hal. Planning on doin' anything tonight?"

"Nah, not really, mate. The missus is on a conference and the kids are both at parties. What can I say? Business has been boomin' ever since Frank's started getting healthier." The red blood cell patted the ground next to him in an affectionate fashion. "Good ol' Frank. Knew he'd pull through for us."

"Yeah. Got rid o' that stinking piece of spitty virus, too. Guess he wasn't so tough, after all. Heheheh."

The cell suddenly stopped laughing because something had him by the throat and was threatening him with a long claw that glowed white-hot, almost causing his membrane to blister. A low voice above him growled. "…Excuse me, baby?"

The cell looked around in panic for his co-worker, only to see the body of the other cell on the floor a few metres away, still twitching slightly as its skin broke out in bubbling orange weals all over, and then promptly burst into flames. The cell being held captive was about to scream but the cry was cut short as the burning claw sliced across his throat, his sound of terror warping into a strangled sob as an orange glow quickly spread around his body, bubbling to the surface in agonising fire.

Thrax strolled over to where the scab was still setting, leaving the bodies to burn behind him, humming his favourite tune. He crouched and jumped into the remaining hole and laughed softly, dropping down into the furthest reaches of the long-term memory. It wasn't much, but it was a good starting point.

"Mmmyeah, baby! Big Daddy Thrax is back…"


	3. Chapter 3 - Painful Memories

Thrax walked past row upon row of dusty boxes, all taped up tightly. He sighed. The long-term memory wasn't a small place – it could take him a good few hours just to make it back to the front of the brain. He wasn't even sure if he was going the right way. He didn't want to risk cutting through the floor to see where he was – he'd done that before in another body as a young virus and ended up falling into the mayor's office, of all places – he'd barely escaped that brawl with his life. He was stronger now (much stronger), but he still wasn't willing to take that chance. So he kept walking.

A nearby box caught his eye as he strode, and he stopped, turning towards it. The box was small and had a big red sticker on it marked 'WARNING: PAINFUL MEMORY. DO NOT OPEN.' So, naturally, Thrax dragged one claw down the middle and sliced the box clean in half. A small hologram player within the box whirred into life, projecting a sort of screen into the air, which flickered and began to play. The virus stood back, one eyebrow raised. This could be interesting.

"No…. Maggie…please…" Thrax watched as an image of Frank flashed onto the screen. A younger Frank, although to be honest the way he ate he didn't look much younger at all. He appeared to be leaning down over a hospital bed. There was a woman in the bed that Thrax could only assume was Frank's wife. "Honey…" The woman said, weakly. Frank leaned closer. "What is it?"

"Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't end up like me. Listen to your daughter, start eating healthier. Take exercise."

The woman was dying from Type 2 Diabetes. Or at least that's what the doctors thought. Her temperature had topped 100 degrees, and just kept rising. There was ice everywhere, over her wrists, packed around the bed, and she was even in an isolation room with the air con turned down to 0. But still her temperature rose. A side effect of the body going into shock from too much sugar, the doctors had said. And everyone believed them. There was nothing they could do. Maggie was slipping away, barely conscious, as she made the final request to Frank. He closed his eyes, holding her close and shivering slightly in the chilly air. "Of course, honey. Of course."

"Goodbye, Frank. Tell Shayne I love her."

"Maggie, please-"

Frank's frantic plea was cut off by a long resounding beep as Maggie's heart monitor flatlined. "…" He said nothing, feeling a strong hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir." The doctor said, steering Frank gently away from his wife's body. The hologram sputtered and died, leaving Thrax alone again in the darkness of the long-term memory. He was still for a moment, frowning, but then straightened up a little, and soon his chuckle of amusement turned into cruel laughter. "Hahahaha! I don't believe it… of all the fat-eating, unsanitary, good-for-nothin'…ahahahahah!" He doubled over in mirth again, and when he finally stopped, he stood, his eyes flashing. "Well, well, well, Frank, my man. Looks like I got to your wife before I even touched on you, baby." He grinned, and began to stride away briskly once more, leaving the memory abandoned, dark and silent in its box.

It was wearing on into the evening of the next day, and Ozzie was out hitting the nightclubs. He still wasn't done celebrating his victory, and everyone else seemed happy enough to continue partying with him. These were good times. Drix had landed a back room in the police department as living quarters until suitable accommodation could be arranged for him, and this was where he was ringing Ozzie from.

The immunity cell felt his phone buzz in his back pocket and went to answer it. "Yo Drips! How you doin'?"

"I, uh…. I'm.. I think I'll stay home tonight.." Drix sounded distant and confused. Ozzie tried not to chuckle. Drix couldn't hold back even a couple of drinks. The hangover must have hit him pretty hard. "Aight, don't worry about it. See ya tomorrow, Drips." Ozzie hung up before Drix could respond. He wanted to rest? Fine. But this was Ozzie's time to shine. He approached the nearest club (The Cuticle) and joined the queue, waiting impatiently to be let in. He noticed it was a mixed club (germs and cells allowed), but he didn't really care. Germs or no, nothing was going to put a dampener on this good mood. Soon, he was given the all-clear, and hung his jacket up on a coat peg inside the doorway, before making his way over to the dance floor to strut his stuff. Aww yeah. Jones was in the house.


End file.
